The Useless Prince Is A Gangster

The silhouette in the smoke began moving toward Erin through the haze. Raw rage pulsed from it—yet the sensation only widened Erin's wicked smile.

Truly papa's girl.

Behind her, the trench she had carved through the forest was already healing: flattened trees rose like film played in reverse, shattered boulders reassembled themselves piece by piece, and vines knitted closed as if the devastation had never happened.

"So this is the forgotten divine authority Aunt warned me about?" Erin mused, a grin stretching with eager anticipation.

She tilted her head. "Pretty bold of you—wielding my mother's power against me while trying to steal my father too."

Time was the authority Ashtarya had ripped from Ersyn, goddess of death and time, centuries ago.

"You are exactly like her," the witch hissed, her voice a chorus of rot and resentment. "Always stealing. Always hoarding what was promised to me."

She stepped from the smoke fully regenerated, severed arm reattached, green eyes blazing beneath her hood.

A flick of her newly formed hand sent thousands of hair-thin crystallized shards spinning through the air in a spiral, caging Erin from every direction.

The witch had already realized brute death wouldn't be enough.

Erin didn't move.

She sighed like it was routine boredom and raised her small palm. The dark shards struck an invisible sphere and shattered into black mist that dissolved around her.

"My father was never yours," Erin said gently. "And neither is time authority."

Ashtarya vanished in a blink of darkness, reappearing an inch from Erin's face. Her palm slammed against the barrier; web-like cracks spidered beneath her touch.

"Everything you love will be mine," she whispered. "Your father. Your mother's stolen authority. Your death authority."

The barrier exploded inward.

Erin walked straight through the blast. The shockwave parted around her like water around a stone. Her tiny fist—wrapped in blinding divine fire—pushed into Ashtarya's chest.

Boom!

Divine energy rippled outward. Ashtarya was hurled skyward, trailing in star flame, then crashed back to land with a thud.

Erin walked forward, hands clasped behind her back.

"I came to collect what's overdue," she said, voice light and cheerful. "Mother's authority… and your soul. Even you don't get to outrun my death authority, witch."

Ashtarya tried to push herself upright, but the borrowed body was already failing, seams of black light splitting across her skin.

Before she could recover, Erin swung her small bare foot with an impossible force into the witch's ribs. The witch flew backward and hit the boulder with a wet, sickening crunch.

The wicked smile on Erin's face faded, replacing it with a mix of rage and grief.

"All of this," she snarled, her voice dropping into something deep, "every second of their pain… is your doing."

The ground cracked beneath her bare feet as she walked forward.

Ashtarya struggles to move, coughing up black blood that stains the stones. She grabbed the handful of witch's hair, yanking her head back.

"Do you even understand what you stole from me?" She whispered against the witch's ear.

Then she drove Ashtarya's skull into the rock without mercy.

"I was supposed to have a father who taught me how to fight."

She drove the witch's face into rock again.

"A mother who sang me to sleep."

Again.

"I was supposed to be loved."

Each impact healed just enough to let the witch feel the next one. Bone splintered, reformed, and splintered again. Blood stained Erin's small hands and streaked her cheeks alongside tears.

Eighty years of bedtime stories told by her aunt. Eighty years of watching her father die inside every time he remembered a woman he couldn't save. Her mother reborn fragile and afraid, hunted lifetime after lifetime because this creature refused to let her soul rest.

She felt alone for eighty years without them.

Erin's voice cracked. "Because of you, I waited in an empty palace while they suffered. Because of you, I grew up alone."

She paused, witches face a pure display of gore, black blood dripping from every corner. She stopped not out of pity.

She leaned closer to her face; her red eyes were terrifying, burning like a hellfire. "Their struggle is your masterpiece, witch. And I have been waiting a very, very long time to thank you for it."

Looking at Erin, a broken laugh escaped the witch. Bloodied lips moved in a chant. With the last of her strength, Ashtarya slammed her palm to the ground.

The ground started shaking and tore open—three jagged rifts swirling with primordial chaos. From them, three huge hulking creatures emerged.

One was a beast of the living shadow with visible bones. Another was a living dead Griffith with rotting flesh. And third was a single-headed Cerberus, saliva dripping from its teeth, eager to munch the little little girl in front of her.

"Kill the child…" the witch rasped with a triumphant grin, thinking she outnumbered the goddess of death.

Erin didn't even look at the summoned creatures. Sure they're strong; they could give time for Ashtarya to escape. But her gaze was still locked on the witch, a look of utter contempt displayed on her face.

The bone creature started running towards Erin, opening its jaw wide to crunch her.

"You never learn," she whispered.

♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢

Celestial tea steamed between them, as silence stretched.

Reo swirled his spoon gently, red eyes reflected in the liquid. "So. Is there a reason I'm here, or did you really summon me across half the cosmos just for tea?"

Celestia's usual teasing smile was gone.

"There is," she said, setting her cup down with a soft click. "The divine order has been unraveling since the day my niece was born. No one has ever seen power like hers." She paused, looking down into tea, reflecting meternal fear in her eyes.

"War among the gods is coming, Reo, and when it does, every god in heaven will want her dead before she finishes growing, they want her powers."

She met his gaze without blinking.

"I need you to protect her."

Reo's spoon stilled.